Killing Keiko (9 page)

Years ago, as an up-and-coming trainer in the SeaWorld system, I was requested to
appear at the office of the curator of Animal Training, Thad Lacinak. That particular
day, Thad was perturbed by some stupid mistakes made by trainers which he had witnessed
during a show; mistakes that he saw as creating confusion in the whales. A trend of
confusion quickly leads to frustration, a predecessor of aggression. Unless corrected,
this pattern of mistakes would ultimately get someone hurt. As one of the few “waterwork”
trainers (trainers approved to be in the water with the whales), he challenged me
with a simple question: “What happens if you bridge a behavior, the animal ignores
the bridge, and you bridge again?” He was talking specifically about killer whales.
At six foot three, Thad was an imposing boss. Adding intensity to his question, his
normally pensive expression was painted with stern urgency while he awaited an answer.

The whistle bridge asks the whale to stop what it is doing and return to the trainer
for reinforcement. Killer whales are top predators. Their hearing, eyesight and sonar
abilities combine to make them the most aware animals I have ever been around. If
a whistle bridge is blown, there’s no such thing as “they didn’t hear it.” I responded
to Thad’s question, “That’s a surefire way to get your ass chewed.” I had passed the
test. Continuing to provide direction when that direction is being purposely ignored
is one of the fastest ways to ignite frustration and aggression in any animal (or
person), especially a killer whale.

Yet again, this was another sloppy area in Keiko’s interactions with his trainers.
They would frequently blow their whistle, in effect, telling Keiko, “Great, that’s
it … now, come back and I’ve got a great reward for you.” Often, when Keiko would
not respond to the bridge, they would promptly bridge again, insisting that his hearing
was bad. Highly unlikely; it was more probable that this “two or
three bridge requirement” was the result of Keiko training (or ignoring) his trainers.
Any other whale might well launch itself bodily out of the water, gaping mouth twisting
to the side as if to grab the unsuspecting offender or at the least knocking them
aside in a sweep of its head. Having witnessed this exact response to repeated bridging
before, I can submit with confidence that once is enough to learn the lesson. I will
never underestimate just how remarkably swift a large killer whale can be when driven
to the point of frustration. If Keiko hadn’t been so satiated with food, or been so
numbed by this practice throughout his learning history, he might have reacted to
these situations like a normal male killer whale and left the trainer with knocking
knees for an hour or two.

These examples of conflicting signals, along with many others, were circumstances
that should have totally pissed him off, yet the lack of aggression or even precursors
to aggressive behavior from Keiko revealed another discomforting trait of this whale
charged with surviving the wild: it was as if he had been “dumbed down” or dulled
to the point of complete apathy.

In large part, the driving force behind Keiko’s lethargy was not only poor training,
it was compounded by diet. Because Dr. Cornell had mandated that a top priority for
Keiko’s release was to fatten him up, Keiko was completely satiated with food. Keiko
simply didn’t care whether food was offered or not. The only motivation to interact
with his trainers was the stimulation they provided, and the break it offered him
from an otherwise monotonous day, void of social contact with other whales, stimulating
mental challenges or any other form of variability aside from changes in weather or
current. Occasionally, when Keiko would not even care to come over, the staff would
literally throw herring at him to make sure he got all his food for the day. Often,
without moving, Keiko would just watch the herring sink to the bottom.

Imagine being so satiated after a Thanksgiving dinner that a nap is all that holds
interest. Friends call and want to toss the Frisbee. Boredom begs for agreement, but
motivation is stifled by an overbearing impulse to lie motionless, drifting
in and out of consciousness. This was Keiko. This was the whale destined for release
to a supremely unforgiving environment.

His fattened and lethargic condition had become a smoke screen that clouded any true
evaluation of the animal. First, we would need to get Keiko on a workout regimen.
We needed to get him moving and burning more calories, but not necessarily dropping
his food intake in the process. Doing both at the same time might trigger the opposite
result for which we were aiming. A drop in fuel at the same time we turned up his
calorie burn could push his body to store more reserves, more fat. Robin and I couldn’t
contain our need to discuss the issues and eventually allowed ourselves to share our
observations openly in front of and with the staff. During the following weeks and
months, we would find ourselves constantly educating the staff on the basics of behavioral
modification, normal killer whale behavior, nutritional dynamics and physiology. But
talk is cheap; we would need to show them results.

Initially I spent a great deal of time with Stephen, who seemed willing to share the
most detail regarding Keiko’s recent past. We talked about the staff’s affinity for
getting in the water with Keiko and how that practice retarded progress toward rehabilitation
for release. It seemed common sense to me that continuing playful in-water interactions
with Keiko were not in alignment with the goal of release. Stephen offered that it
was one of their only ways to keep Keiko stimulated. Still, I wondered what the world
would think if they saw just how docile this animal was with his trainers in the water
rubbing his back and belly. In a similar vein, we discussed Keiko’s fixation with
the blue Boomer Ball, which Stephen described in great comedic detail sparing no small
amount of adult-rated analogy. I pressed him on the activities in Oregon, the rationale
behind program directives, who had implemented behavioral protocols and details of
what individual sessions were like.

According to Stephen’s description, little emphasis had been placed on Keiko’s learning.
The primary stated goals of the Oregon phase had been simply to put weight on the
whale and eliminate dependency on a slew of medications. In this capacity, they
had certainly succeeded. Keiko was on nothing more than supplemental vitamins needed
to replace the nutrients lost in the freezing and thawing of his food, of which he
received a handsome quantity day-in and day-out. Judging by his enormous size, this
amount was certainly more than he required, which had much to do with his lethargy.

Throughout the many hours I dwelled on the pen, I amassed more one-on-one time with
the diverse staff. With each passing exposure, I learned about their past and how
each had become involved with the project. The release team was divided into two rotations
of personnel. Each team worked four weeks on-site followed by four weeks at home in
the States. Every four weeks, a completely new staff would rotate in, occupy the hostel
and take over the operation. Jeff led one rotation and Peter Noah the other. Although
anyone on staff could and did work with Keiko at times, the primary individuals who
attended to his needs, and whom I met on that first rotation, were Stephen, Karen
McRea and Steve Sinelli.

I was shocked to learn that none of the three had ever worked with a killer whale
before Keiko. Worse yet, none had any professional experience in animal behavioral
sciences. For example, Stephen, known informally as the “director of comedy relief,”
had been a restaurant chef before joining the Keiko team. He proved to be a master
of the galley, concocting some of the most exquisite Thai food I had ever consumed;
this from the non-Thai assortment of raw ingredients available on the rock island.
He, like so many providing Keiko’s daily care, cherished his role in training and
was all heart when beside the pool. Unfortunately his professional experience was
in the kitchen.

When they conquered the moon landing, NASA was given almost unlimited powers to call
upon and collect the world’s most prominent scientists in rocket propulsion and lunar
exploration. These innovators demonstrating a technological prowess and singular focus,
eventually achieved the impossible. Here we had what consisted of an emotionally charged
group of volunteers from the
Oregon Coast Aquarium leading the most ambitious animal release program ever conceived.
If there was a silver lining to the lack of experience on the project, it was that
they would be hungry for clear and focused direction. Or at least that’s what was
initially represented.

I was drawn to Keiko in many ways. He was a killer whale, one of the most amazing
species of animal that I have ever worked around. Beyond that, Keiko himself was also
strangely different from any other male killer whale I had ever known. There seemed
to be no limit to his acceptance of anyone or anything. From all that I learned and
was told, from everything that I saw, Keiko did not possess an aggressive bone in
his body. His disposition with people was more akin to that of a big mellow Saint
Bernard than any form of apex predator. These characteristics were intriguing and
at the same time deeply troubling. At any other time or place, I would have been thrilled
to be working with such a remarkable individual.

However, we weren’t there to build a lasting relationship with the animal. We were
there to prepare him for a life in the North Atlantic. That life would require diverse
new skills. Of pivotal importance, it would require the absence of human relationships.
No, in fact it would demand that he develop relationships with his wild counterparts,
something over which all our preparation could have no influence. It was impossible
not to like the Big Man, but beneath the excitement of meeting Keiko, ran a profoundly
disturbing and dark current. I worried for this animal; I worried that what made him
such an incredible animal to those around him would be his Achilles’ heel, the downfall
of his ability to succeed on his own.

E-mail: April 29, 1999

Dave, my counterpart on the implementation of our outlined plan, was scheduled to
arrive just a day before Charles Vinick, the chief operations officer for the Keiko
Release Project. We would have only one day together on the bay pen with Keiko before
meetings with Charles would begin. Although Robin and I had spent considerable time
analyzing every aspect of Keiko’s reintroduction and our proposal, I had much more
hands-on time in the application of behavioral modification with Dave from our years
of working side-by-side at SeaWorld. We each knew the other’s strengths and weaknesses
while also practiced in exercising each other’s intellectual limits on the finer points
of applied behavioral science.

From my own experiences, I had categorized three basic types of animal trainer: the
“Relationship Trainer,” the “Scientist,” and the “Poet Philosopher.” Relationship
Trainers have a special knack for building relationships with animals. In other words,
animals like to work with these trainers. More often than not, Relationship Trainers
don’t have a solid grasp of the science of behavioral modification and can’t explain
(very well) to others how they get results. Nonetheless, they are able to achieve
an amazing rapport due in large part to their genuine affection and interaction with
the animals in their care.

The Scientist Trainers approach animal behavior from a textbook perspective. They
know the mechanics of how behavior is shaped. The Scientists don’t have the best relationship
with the animals and often face their own frustration; frustration that comes from
the missing link provided through genuine affection. The best scientists recognize
that developing a relationship with the animal they are training is a fundamental
tool and requirement in the behavioral modification process, but this understanding
is clinical. Cold application as a tool in shaping behavior, regardless of accuracy,
does not a genuine bond make. Animals pick up on this, and their interest and motivation
to work with the scientists is less than ideal.

Poet-Philosophers combine the talents of the Relationship Trainer and the Scientist
Trainer. They possess a sincere desire to have a working bond with the animal, and
they understand behavioral science. However, it’s not enough to know the science of
behavioral modification, there is an art form in applying these principles outside
of the proverbial lab. Poet-Philosophers are great technicians, genuine partners with
the animal and competent scientists. The Poet-Philosophers ultimately lead the field
in animal training regardless of their title. They are often the silent and unassuming
force that pushes the boundaries of achievement in animal behavior.

In a truly effective training environment, all three types of trainer are needed.
The Poet-Philosopher leads with results and
inspires an attentive animal, the Relationship Trainer provides a loving atmosphere
that translates to relationship-challenged trainers and the Scientist Trainer maps
the strategic path to the group’s goal. The Scientist Trainer also plays an important
role in teaching Relationship Trainers and young Poet-Philosophers the science of
behavioral modification.

In many regards, Dave was heavily slanted toward the Scientist Trainer on this scale.
Although relationship building with Keiko would be critical in the initial stages,
this was neither a show nor presentation environment. Make no mistake, the importance
of a solid relationship is not limited to a show or presentation environment. In our
case it was just one piece of a multidimensional puzzle. At this early stage, the
most vital aspect was mapping out a strategic plan with a vigilant eye toward the
science of how learning occurs and how behavior is shaped. We couldn’t leave any stone
unturned. I was looking forward to Dave’s input.